The Lady of the Barge eBook

THE LADY OF THE BARGE

The master of the barge Arabella sat in the stern
of his craft with his right arm leaning on the tiller.
A desultory conversation with the mate of a schooner,
who was hanging over the side of his craft a few yards
off, had come to a conclusion owing to a difference
of opinion on the subject of religion. The skipper
had argued so warmly that he almost fancied he must
have inherited the tenets of the Seventh-day Baptists
from his mother while the mate had surprised himself
by the warmth of his advocacy of a form of Wesleyanism
which would have made the members of that sect open
their eyes with horror. He had, moreover, confirmed
the skipper in the error of his ways by calling him
a bargee, the ranks of the Baptists receiving a defender
if not a recruit from that hour.

With the influence of the religious argument still
upon him, the skipper, as the long summer’s
day gave place to night, fell to wondering where his
own mate, who was also his brother-in-law, had got
to. Lights which had been struggling with the
twilight now burnt bright and strong, and the skipper,
moving from the shadow to where a band of light fell
across the deck, took out a worn silver watch and
saw that it was ten o’clock.

Almost at the same moment a dark figure appeared on
the jetty above and began to descend the ladder, and
a strongly built young man of twenty-two sprang nimbly
to the deck.

“Ten o’clock, Ted,” said the skipper,
slowly. “It ’ll be eleven in an
hour’s time,” said the mate, calmly.

“That ’ll do,” said the skipper,
in a somewhat loud voice, as he noticed that his late
adversary still occupied his favourite strained position,
and a fortuitous expression of his mother’s occurred
to him: “Don’t talk to me; I’ve
been arguing with a son of Belial for the last half-hour.”

“Bargee,” said the son of Belial, in a
dispassionate voice.

“Don’t take no notice of him, Ted,”
said the skipper, pityingly.

“He wasn’t talking to me,” said
Ted. “But never mind about him; I want
to speak to you in private.”

“Fire away, my lad,” said the other, in
a patronizing voice.

“Speak up,” said the voice from the schooner,
encouragingly. “I’m listening.”

There was no reply from the bargee. The master
led the way to the cabin, and lighting a lamp, which
appealed to more senses than one, took a seat on a
locker, and again requested the other to fire away.

“Well, you see, it’s this way,”
began the mate, with a preliminary wriggle: “there’s
a certain young woman—­”